Fly
by Kourui1
Summary: A peak into the mind of Celena after the end of Escaflowne. What if she never really forgot it all? Rated R for intensity of mental anguishy stuff, spoilers for the end of Escaflowne.


Fly  
  
Darkness fills the room. Through the window, I can see the full moon and the Phantom Moon right behind it. How many times have I gazed at it in awe? In wonder? In hatred? Hatred for that girl, hatred for the young king of Fanelia. Hatred for even my brother. Ah, yes, my brother. The valiant, brave Allen Schezar, knight of Calei, and a hero in Austuria. Even he who knows me best was fooled. The all were. They thought I couldn't remember. They thought I had forgotten everything I had done as Dilandau Albatou. Ha. No one could forget such things. How could I? How could I disregard all if the screams of the people I killed? How could I ignore the sight of cities raging with fire, a fire that I ignited? I can still smell the hot air, the buildings as they crumbled, the people as they burned. My hand still resonates with the sting of slapping my followers, my Dragonslayers... Miguel. He died for me. Then Shesta and Vione. No matter what I did, they remained loyal to the bitter  
end. My hand unconsciously wanders to my right cheek again. I do that a lot. The scar is gone, but I feel it still, as painful as it was when I had received it, as real as it had been before it vanished. Before Celena came back. She doesn't deserve to be here. Such a pure, sweet, innocent being shouldn't exist where a cruel, psychotic man once stood. That's hard to know. It's tough, and there's no one I can turn to, no one who understands what I've gone through. Who am I? Am I Celena, the beautiful younger sister of the dashing Allen Schezar? The girl who would rather sit out in the sunlight and dream the day away rather than do anything else in the world? Or am I Dilandau, the bloodthirsty leader of Zaibach's most elite troupe? Who am I? What am I? I can't be both, and I can't be either.  
  
I walk over to my closet and pull out my sword. Allen doesn't know I still have it. It molds perfectly into my hands, not a separate object, but an extension of myself. I swing it easily about in the dark room. Slash, block, perry, thrust. Through the metal, I can feel it sink into its victim, cold steel biting into warm flesh, ripping through armor, skin, and muscle. I can still feel the adrenaline pumping through me, and an elated smile graces my features. A familiar joy shoots through me, and I giggle ecstatically, feeling blood of past prey running over my hands, the dark water splattering on my face. I cry out as the sword drops from my hands, and I collapse into sobs. I know he'll never go away, and he knows he'll never leave. After all, that is what Dilandau Albatou does. He tortures people, existing solely to cause pain. And to that extent, everyone has a little bit of Dilandau inside themselves, but no one knows what it's like to live exclusively as evil, knowing  
only pain and darkness. It's like being woken from a vivid nightmare. Especially the ones where you're falling. When you wake up, you can still feel the world rushing by your rapid descent even when the dream has long since ended. Yes, that's it. I've been falling. For ten years, I've been falling. And all of a sudden, I woke up from the nightmare. But I'm still falling now, I can still feel everything. I am in a nightmare. That thought is strangely appealing to me. It sounds romantic. The lovely damsel, trapped inside a self-induced world of darkness as she struggles to discover her true self. I smile. They'll write stories like that someday. I hear footsteps approaching. Quickly, I grab the sword and shove it back into the closet, jumping onto the windowsill, gazing out at the stars. My door opens.  
  
"Celena?" the deep voice asks softly, testing the waters. I turn, and a big smile rises to my face.  
  
"Hello, nii-chan," I chirp. It never ceased to amaze me how easy it is to lie, whether it be in words or in actions. It's kind of like killing; it gets easier ever time you do it.  
  
"What are you doing up? It's late." Ah, I could ask the same of you, brother. But that would sound mistrusting. No, Celena is merely happy to see her brother, regardless of how late it is.  
  
"Betsuni," I answer playfully. You grin in response and walk in, peering out of the window as well. I can faintly smell the lavender perfume on your body. So that's why you're up so late. It figures. After Hitomi left, you started sneaking around. You didn't even have an inkling you were being followed, surveyed. You sought solace in other women's arms. Typical of the wounded hero. At lease you could find some consolation, some resolution (however temporary) to the pain wrenching and ripping at your heart and soul. I envy you. You look at me, and I return your gaze, my blue eyes filled to the depths with nothing but sweet innocence. There are some who believe innocence to be weakness, that it is mere stupidity and ignorance in a lower human being. I disagree. Innocence is strength. It is something you possess to protect you from the cold realities of life and the world. That is, until it is ripped away from you and you are forced to look upon the anguish and the suffering  
that surrounds you, clinging to you, refusing to give up until you've been dragged through their immeasurable depths. Innocence is like virginity: once you lose it, you can never have it back.  
  
"Celena? You in there?" I blink. Allen has been talking to me. I have barely the time to note that, that was an excellent question, and one I often ask myself before you smirk and speak again. "You look tired. I think it's time for both of us to go to bed."  
  
I nod politely and fake a yawn. I speculate on exactly whose bed you'll be sleeping in this time. You smile softly and reach forward to pet my hair. I watch you stand.  
  
"Good night, Celena."  
  
"Good night, Allen."  
  
With that, you walk you of the room. Ah well. Looking out at the moons, I remember a story someone told me a long time ago, back when Celena truly existed. A story of long ago, underneath the moonlight...  
  
"Well, everyone knows we're all descendants of the Draconians."  
  
Celena quirked an eyebrow.  
  
"Dray-cone-knee-yuns?"  
  
"Yeah. The ancient class from Atlantis. The cursed ones. We're all descended from them." The small black-haired boy hopped down from the tree he'd been climbing. "So, what I figured is every person is born with one wing."  
  
"Why just one?"  
  
"I'm getting' there! Everyone is born with one wing because when they find the person they're meant to be with, then they have two wings between them." Celena nodded in awe.  
  
"Then what happens?" The boy with the bog brown eyes and messy black hair smiled.  
  
"They fly."  
  
What a beautiful illusion it had been. I stop to think for a second, an irrational, obscure, impossible thought flashing through my mind. The person you're supposed to be with. I smile, the first genuine smile I've made in ten years as I climb onto the sill. I look out at the painfully beautiful night and the landscape surrounding me. I open my arms and feel my wings unfurl. It's amazing; the only person I need to be is myself. Myself. Celena? Dilandau? Neither or both? I've been asking the wrong questions. I am me. That's all I need. All I need. I feel the wind rush by me as I leap out of the window. I can feel it rustling through the feathers of my pure, pristine white wings, and as I fall into the night, I find the answer to all my questions and doubts in such clarity and perfection it almost hurts. I am all I need.  
  
I fly.  
  
Wow! My first Escaflowne fic! And it's about a secondary character!!! GO ME! Um, I don't know how it's turned out. I've never written in this style before, and frankly, I don't know how it's supposed to turn out... I really hope it's okay. This whole thing was inspired by the end of Escaflowne, when I thought to myself, "What if... just what if Celena was faking it? What if she could remember her life as Dilandau?" And nearly four months later, here's the product of my insanity and an overdose of ice cream sandwiches. Anywhatsit, if ya wanna read something better than this, check out my WeiB Kreuz fic "What If?" (It seems almost all of my fics recently have been formed out of that damned two-word question!) or just wait for any upcoming projects.  
  
-Kourui - 


End file.
